


JeanMarco Week 2015

by Usuishi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usuishi/pseuds/Usuishi





	1. Day 1- Begin Again or Dream On

I remembered once, when I felt as though my life had ended. The boy I had loved had walked out on me, tired of waiting for me to catch up to him; of waiting for me to grasp the freedom that was being offered just before me. It was just out of reach at the time, in my perspective. Looking back on it now, I was so close. So very close to having the boy I loved stay with me, close to being able to fall asleep with him in my arms and playing video games until the early hours of the morning.

Back then, I was just a hair away from freedom, but at the time I didn’t know it. All I saw then was my father, blocking my path from the freedom I so longed for. He was the only obstacle in my way, and at the time he had seemed so large. Then, freedom had been nothing but a dream, and I had been convinced of that fact. In my own stupidity, I had let the best thing in my life slip away from my grasp like letting sand slip through my fingers.

I spent a lot of time at the beach after I lost Marco.

I can recall simply sitting there, a few feet away from the reach of the tide. I would simply stare out at the gentle ripples of the sea, and grab a handful of sand just to endure the feeling of it finding its way through my fingers, back onto the ground where it had originated. At one point, there had been a piece too large to fit through my fingers, and when I finally dragged my gaze away from the sea, I noticed the piece of water-worn glass resting in the palm of my hand.

It almost looked like a piece of amber, the brown glass brightening to a rich color when held up to the light of the setting sun. It reminded me of Marco’s eyes, and I never lost that piece of glass. Whenever I walk, I can feel its cool surface occasionally resting against my sternum for a brief moment, the movement of my body causing it to bounce a bit.

It was my reminder, really. A reminder of what happened when you let anything get between you and the thing you wanted. After my two depressed weeks spent on the beach, I went back to college, and became an artist full-time.

And I never took of that piece of sea-glass turned pendant. In fact, even during the art shows that my professor held, in which he would showcase all of our work, I would still wear it. It was a permanent part of me, and everlasting fixture around my neck that would remind me of the love that I had lost, even when surrounded by a crowd of people, as I was now.

A few years ago, one would never assume I would be here. I was awkward, especially in social situations. I couldn’t handle people well. Hell, I couldn’t even do that now. I could feel my pulse quickening against the tight collar of my shirt. Somehow, I got these constant feelings that Marco would just… appear, that he would drop out of the sky and come to my rescue as he used to,

But I had ruined that long ago, hadn’t I?

A sudden hand rested on my shoulder, but I was too dazed and unfocused to pay attention to whom it was that was currently excusing me from whatever conversation I had been having, and leading me over to a dark alcove. I didn’t even register a voice until suddenly the sight of my pendant caught my attention.

Wait a second, that wasn’t my pendant…

“Jean. Jean, look at me,” the words suddenly broke through the fog of my mind, and I looked up at someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“…M-Marco? What… What are you doing here?” I asked, staring up at him and taking in every angle and plane of his face, drinking it all in as if I would never see him again.

“I work here, Jean,” he answered softly, those wonderful eyes staring down at me. His eyes, his voice, it was all almost exactly as I remembered, but he looked so much different. So much older, more mature.

“You grew up, Freckles,” I couldn’t help but whisper the words, my hand instinctively going to grasp at the pendant around my neck. Marco let out an amused chuckle, nodding his head a bit with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, just a bit. You did as well. You look tired, though,” Marco commented, looking down at me worriedly. No. Don’t make that face, don’t be worried about me.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” I whispered in response instead, and immediately Marco’s hand lifted to cup my cheek, and the pads of his thumbs swiped delicately over the slight bag under my right eye.

“For how long?” the brunette asked, raising an eyebrow at me, clearly in question. I almost felt like a child being told off, just because of the look he was giving me. He still cared, then. If the looks were any indication of that fact.

“Since you left,” I responded simply, looking up at Marco as if I were expecting for him to yell at me for that. I was, honestly. He let out a soft sigh, a sad look crossing his features.

“How have you been?” he asked delicately, as if afraid of what the answer may confirm for him.

I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of any facts to blame himself with. “I’m out. Everyone knows now,” I said instead, watching his eyes widen in surprise.

“You told everyone?” he asked softly, and I could sense the question hidden in his tone.

“Everyone. Even my father knows,” I whispered softly, and in the next moment, Marco’s lips were on mine, and everything felt right again. 

I clung to him like a dying man clings to life, because in my eyes, that’s what he was. He was the life that I longed for, and the future that I was more than prepared to fight for.

“Jean, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ I cut him off right there, tugging him back in for another kiss, this one much less desperate or more emotional and slow. I tried to pour my every feeling into this kiss, how much my heart ached to be his again, but also how afraid I was.

I was afraid of Marco Bodt, the biggest freckled dork on this side of Trost, because he had my heart, and he could break it in an instant if he wanted to.

“Let’s go home, Jean,” Marco whispered softly against my lips, and I had a feeling that I would follow him to the edge of the Earth if he asked me to.

I was more than lucky that he had given me a chance to begin planning out future together once more.


	2. Day 2- Paint or Electric

“This is stupid, Marco.”

“Oh come on. It’s not that bad,” Marco laughed, finishing his current small puddle of paint and putting the cap back onto the container of red paint in his hand. Already it had created a bit of a mess, mostly from the few times Marco had rested his knee or hand right onto one of the oher puddles of paint around him.

He had heard of the game online, basically an incredibly messy version of Twister, and had practically begged Jean to play it with him.  The other young man was, of course, rather disgusted by the idea. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as Marco was, the taller man straightening up and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked over their paint-covered Twister mat.

Marco moved the bottles of paint aside, some of the green getting on his thumb as he grabbed the bottle, not realizing some had dripped down the side. He couldn’t help but grin, wiping it on his cheeks like stereotypical war marks and looking over at Jean.

The teen snorted and rolled his eyes, going to turn on the stereo and start playing some music.

“So how is this working, then?” Jean asked, picking up the spinner and flicking the piece of plastic that acted as a pointer.

“Just like normal twister,” Marco hummed, standing next to their painted mat, “Come on then, let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my god, this was a terrible idea,” Jean nearly whined, struggling to fit his left hand to the yellow circle on Marco’s left side. The pair was nearly a tangle of limbs by this point, so it was difficult to slip his arm through the space given by Marco’s arm.

Their chests were nearly pressed together, and Marco could feel the warmth of Jean’s body heat on his own chest, not minding the feeling at all.

“It really was, wasn’t it?” Marco let out a chuckle, causing Jean to yelp and practically tremble on top of Marco.

“Stop that! Don’t laugh. I’m going fall!” Jean said quickly, closing his eyes and trying to still himself.

The pair was covered in small splotches of different colors of paint, and Marco himself could have sworn by this point that he had gotten some in his hair. 

“Do it. Fall, Jean. Fall,” he whispered challengingly, narrowing his eyes and the other and laughing.

“Shut up!” he scowled, wobbling a bit and finally resting his hand over the correctly colored circle. Marco heard the squelch of paint seeping between Jean’s fingers, and a disgusted groan from his friend moments later.

“Ugh, this is so gross,” Jean’s face scrunched up, and Marco couldn’t help but let his head fall back, laughing. Jean frowned a little and lifted his hand up, wiping the paint from his hand on Marco’s cheek, down over his jaw and neck.

Marco gasped out in surprise, looking up at Jean with wide eyes.

“Oh, no you just didn’t,” Marco said simply, his eyes slowly narrowing. In that brief moment, he could see a look crossing Jean’s face that clearly showed that he knew he was in trouble.

Marco’s lips slowly tugged up into a smirk, and he lifted one of his own hands, a bit of green paint on the tips of his fingertips. He grinned up at Jean, bringing his hand up to drag his fingertips along the side of his best friend’s face.

There was a brief moment where Jean didn’t seem to know how to react, staring back down at Marco in surprise, before he groaned and pulled away, wiping at the paint on his own face a bit, and smearing it in the process.

“What the hell, Marco.”

Not moments after the words were out of Jean’s mouth, Marco quickly twisted them to press Jean down onto the Twister mat, satisfied with the yelp and sound of disgust that Jean made as his back pressed against the cool plastic and the paint that pressed into his skin and soaked bits of his shirt.

It was amazing, almost, just looking down at Jean. Despite his scrunched up nose and the paint over him, he looked gorgeous. Marco couldn’t hide that fact very well, that he thought his best friend was the most amazing and attractive person he had ever met.

Marco smiled softly down at Jean, almost surprised when he felt Jean’s hand cupping his jaw. He blinked out of his thoughts, actually looking down at the other teen, then.

Marco didn’t even realize that Jean was slowly tugging him down, or that their faces were getting closer, until he felt the light, gentle brush of the other’s lips against his own. Almost immediately, he began to return the action, pressing their lips together a little more firmly and gently holding himself up with his hands on either side of Jean.

They simply kissed for a few long moments, the moment seeming perfect around them, even if they were covered in paint, with music thrumming in the air and through their veins like electricity. 


End file.
